


it takes an outside look

by nothanksweregood (eavis)



Series: straight for your heart (wolfpack au) [8]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Library, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Platonic Kissing, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 12:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10967583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eavis/pseuds/nothanksweregood
Summary: Helen has worked at the library for over twenty years now, but she's never met anyone quite like Niall Horan.





	it takes an outside look

**Author's Note:**

> there are a couple touchy panicky scenes that are brief but definitely present so pls skip to the end for more notes on that or feel free to skip this one all together!

It’s getting near to closing time, and Helen’s already flicked the lights once and warned all the people on the computers that they only had five more minutes before they would be shut off automatically. She does a walk-through, stopping to chat with the Forests and ask after the new baby, reminding them with smile that “We do have to close in a few minutes, I’m afraid, so if you’ve anything you’d like to check out, be sure and bring it to the desk in the next minute or so, loves.”

Michelle smiles back and assures her they’re nearly finished. “We got a bit too excited about our lesson today - we finally got to Sir Gawain, you see, so they wanted to read the story and then they wanted to read about the other knights, too. We’ll pack up and get out of your way.”

Helen fumbles for her glasses and tilts her head to read the title. “Sir Gawain the True. Very nice! I remember when we got those in a few months back. We’re a bit low on knights and castles and things, I’m afraid, but I can always order you some from the next county over, if you like.”

Catherine tugs at her hand and Helen crouches to her level, a little laboriously. “I want one about Galhad,” she says solemnly. 

The bow is falling out of her tight curls and Helen reaches to fix it, clipping it in a little more securely. “How many would you like, love?”

“It’s  _ Galahad _ ,” Caleb cuts in impatiently, “and he’s  _ dumb _ , Cat, you want ones about cool knights, like Percival or - or -”

“Dinadin!” Ephram supplies, bouncing a little on his toes, brown eyes wide and excited. “Dinadin played the guitar! I want to play guitar, too!”

Michelle is shaking her head as she pulls Catherine away gently. “Come on now, loveys, let’s let Ms. Helen get back to work. We’ll get some books later. And Caleb.” She levels him with a stern look. “Your sister is allowed to like things you don’t without you calling them dumb.”

Caleb glances away, shoulders falling, but a second later he sighs and leans in, clumsily kissing his sister’s cheek. “Sorry, Cat.”

“It okay.” Catherine flings her arms around her brother’s neck in a loving stranglehold, soft brown against pale freckles.

“Ephram, go find Hannah, please, and tell her we’re ready to go.”

“I’ll get her; I saw her in non-fiction just a minute ago.” Helen straightens, stifling a groan as her joints protest. 

She rounds the corner and spots Hannah sitting cross-legged, a book on mongooses (mongooses? mongeese? Helen has been a librarian for over twenty-five years and still isn’t settled on this point) open on her lap and her voice excited as she explains something to Niall, their newest staff member.

He’s sitting on the floor beside her, cart full of books to be shelved behind him, one leg stretched out in front of him as he nods intently along with her explanation. “Read a book with a mongoose in it once. Long time ago now.”

“Rikki Tikki Tavi?” Hannah asks, lighting up. “I know that one!”

“Yeah, that was it.” Niall smiles down at her, one hand rubbing absently at his knee. “It was well good, I remember.”

“They have it here!” Hannah pops upright. “We can read it right now!”

“Hannah,” Helen calls softly, and they both look up at her, Hannah already braced for disappointment and Niall scrambling to his feet, a look of - pain? Flashing briefly across his face before he turns quickly to his cart. She smiles at him in what she hopes is a reassuring way before relaying her message. Hannah sighs deeply but runs off to her mum with a quick ‘bye, Niall!’ and a quick squeeze around his legs.

Helen looks after her, shaking her head a little. “I don’t know how their mum does it, bless her soul. Four young ones all under eight. I’d go mad with them at school every day, and here she is teaching them at home.”

“She really wanted me to see her book.” Niall’s staring very hard at the spine of the book in his hands and not really meeting her eyes. “I didn’t mean to not - I won’t take a break tomorrow.”

She stares at him in surprise. Was the poor boy really worried about being fired for chatting with a little girl instead of shelving? “Good heavens, love, you don’t need to worry about that. No one does a stitch of work the last fifteen minutes of the day anyway. Shelving’ll still be here tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Never ends, that stuff. I know you’re still new here, but you’ll figure out pretty sharpish it doesn’t do to run yourself into the ground trying to get it all finished right off. It’ll happen one way or another.”

“I just - I didn’t want you to think I was trying to - “ He stops, awkward, and she goes to pat his hand. His entire body locks up, and she can see him make the decision to let it happen and just suffer through it, just like Victor used to - well. She turns the pat into a reach for a book on his cart. “You do that side, I’ll do this, and we’ll have it finished by closing, how’s that?”

His shoulders slowly start to come down from where they were nearly to his ears with tension, and he offers her an uncertain smile. “Sounds like a plan t’me.”

* * *

She watches him over the next week or so, never where he can see her doing it, but - working at a library is an interesting choice for any young person, especially for a boy. He’s always there five minutes before his shift is supposed to start, and he works hard and doesn’t say very much. He definitely doesn’t like working with Mark, which is fair, because none of the rest of them really do either. He doesn’t talk much with Rebecca, either, which is more of a surprise, considering that she’s a very attractive young lady. A little too bubbly and sure of how nice her body is for Helen’s taste, perhaps, but probably very nice underneath all the silliness. But Niall always spends more time out in the stacks shelving when she’s on shift, so perhaps he doesn’t like girls? In which case, there is a really lovely young man who’s just taken the flat above Helen’s and he introduced himself wearing a t-shirt that said “I’m Here, I’m Queer, Get Used To It,” so it’s a pretty safe bet, probably, that he’s gay, in which case perhaps Niall would like to come over for tea at some point and meet him.

Wednesday, Rebecca offers Niall a ride home “so you won’t have to ride that awful bus,” and Niall turns her down politely but firmly, edging his way around her to pick up his stack of audiobooks and check them out. “Thanks, but Liam’s picking me up today.” To Helen, not to Rebecca, he offers a little shyly, “He got off early today - half day at the school, you know, so we’re gonna see a movie before the others get home.”

Helen beams at him. Liam’ll be the boyfriend, then. Well, so much for her neighbor, but she’s glad Niall has someone. “That’ll be fun, then, won’t it. Rebecca, love, would you mind watching the front desk?”

Rebecca shoots a last, lingering look at Niall and goes. Helen shakes her head. “I’m sorry about that, Niall. If she ever starts getting too much, you let me know, won’t you, dear? Off you go then, have some fun with your young man.”

“Oh, he’s not my - he’s just a. Just a. Friend.” Niall looks nervous, shifty, like she’s not seen him before.

Helen wants to pat his hand, but she remembers and just smiles at him kindly instead. “Now, then, don’t you worry, I don’t mind a bit. Rebecca might, but she could stand to grow up a little.”

“No, it’s not - I mean, that’s very kind of you, really, but it’s more -” He breaks off, squaring his shoulders. “He’s my packmate.”

She frowns a moment, puzzled. Then it registers what he must mean. “Oh! Like in Moon Towers, with Cliff and Jonny and everyone.” This is really very exciting - she’s never met a real live werewolf before. “Well! And you drive cars and everything!” She realises that perhaps this is a bit offensive - after all, werewolves are very well thought of now. Mostly, anyway. There are always a few people who are idiots about things like this and go around submitting trashy stories to trashy papers like that awful  _ Sun _ about how they’re a danger to decent people. Decent people! Ha! Like those sort of people have any right to go around prattling about decent people. “I’m sorry,” she says belatedly, “of course you can drive cars, I just don’t really watch much telly these days.”

Niall is smiling, though, fortunately. “It’s fine, Ms. Helen. I used to quite like that show meself, when I was a little chap.” His mobile buzzes and he looks at it and his whole face lights up. “I’d better hurry; he’s out front.”

“Want a hand with those audiobooks?” She offers, but he waves her away, so she settles for seeing him off with a “Have a lovely time, dear!”

* * *

 

They get more comfortable with each other, she and Niall, and she begins to look forward to their night shifts together when it’s just the two of them, and he’ll tell her stories about his pack. There are five of them, she learns, and they live in that great rambling old house just on the very outskirts of town that she always drives by on her way to Manchester to visit Agatha. Zayn and Louis are the alphas (“That’s like the parents,” Niall explains, a funny twist to the corner of his mouth.) and Liam is a beta (“Like a big brother who sort of worries too much sometimes, but he’s really honestly so fantastic.”) and he and Harry are omegas (“Those are the weakest ones, physically,” and his voice is calm, but his hands are clenched in his lap. “Some - some people think they’re just supposed to like. Roll over for the alphas and betas. Do whatever they say.” And he’s quiet for long enough that she asks, quietly, if he’s okay. He shakes himself, smiling at her. “Zayn and Louis aren’t like that, though. Not a bit.”).

She tells him about her dad who was in the trenches and was never quite the same when he got home, and he tells her about his gran who flew planes for the WASPS. She tells him about Agatha who was born ten years after she was and they only really became friends after her mum died, and he tells her about the day he met Harry at the Farmer’s Market. 

Sometimes they do some straightening or fixing the messed up books, but mostly they sit at the desk and chat. Nothing much happens Thursday nights, so they only have to take occasional breaks and actually help patrons. She tells him about her neighbor who is very nice but sometimes throws very loud parties, and he offers to bring Liam and Zayn and have a chat with him.

“They’re really very intimidating when they want to be. I’m sure they could make him see reason.”

She can’t help but laugh. “It’s very kind of you, darling, but it’s mostly all right. I like to see young people having a bit of fun - goodness knows I don’t get out much myself these days.”

He looks at her thoughtfully. “You should, sometime. Go to a - a club or on a date or whatever.”

“Me? On a date?” She scoffs. “Young man, I’m sixty-four years old. I think all that’s behind me. Best I just stay inside and watch Miss Marple reruns.”

“Love a good Miss Marple, me.” He nods. “Watched that one with all the adopted kids last week. Harry cried like anything about the ones that turned out to be in love. Zayn thought it wasn’t fair of everyone to suspect the guy in the wheelchair just ‘coz he was all grumpy and shit. I mean -” He turns bright red under his blond hair. “Stuff. Sorry.”

She waves him off. “Don’t you mind a bit. My father, God rest his soul, used to swear like a sailor. Or, I suppose, an Infantryman.” 

He smiles, a little sheepishly. “I’m trying t’ do better, coz, like. Liam ‘n Lou have to on account of all the kids - can’t be swearin’ all the time, y’know - so we’re all tryin’ to do better with them. Harry says it’s easy, but like. He works with a bunch of older ladies who just think it’s cute when he does it, so he doesn’t really care.”

“Where does he work?” Helen asks, interested. She knows Liam and Louis work at the primary school, and Zayn does something with art that even Niall seems vague about, but she’d thought Harry was a sort of man about town.

“He’s a baker,” Niall says and then laughs. “I mean, that’s what he says. Really he just, y’know, rings people up, mostly.”

“Well, that’s still an important part of the business, I suppose.” She suppresses a smile. “I take it the rest of you make a bit of fun of him for that?”

“Just a bit, yeah.” Niall looks like he’s trying to look penitent and not succeeding very well. “He just wouldn’t stop going on about it, so then Louis said since he was star baker now he could take over making all the meals for the week and he sulked for a day and a half.”

She laughs. “Quite a character, your Harry.”

“He is that.” There’s a fond, almost wistful smile on Niall’s face, and he runs a finger down the side of the book in his hands, fiddling with a loose edge. “It’s like. I’m glad we’ve all got jobs ‘n that, but like. I miss them, y’know? Used to be, we’d be able to be together all day. Just - hang out, have a laugh, chillin’ and all that. But now it’s. Y’have to schedule stuff, or - we have this big calendar on the fridge with, like, everyone’s things on it just so we can make sure to have dinner all together a couple times a week. And Harry’s got all his friends and they’re all really nice and everything, but I guess I just. Dunno. Reckon I’m just bein’ selfish.”

Helen feels almost like she might cry. It’s a hard thing, navigating relationships and changing walks of life, and Niall is so young still. He’s got lots of time to settle into all of this, but of course to young people it never seems that way. Everything is pressing and urgent, and of course he’s missing his family. “I know it’s what everyone’s always saying,” she starts, slowly, not wanting to come off as just some old fogey repeating trite sayings and advice, “but if you’re feeling that way, you should let someone know. Your - Louis or Zayn or one of the other boys. It’s always better to communicate when you’re worrying about something.”

He looks at her, worried. “But if nothing can be done, like. Isn’t that wrong of me, to make them feel guilty about somethin’ they can’t help?”

Helen hums thoughtfully. “That’s a bit of a trickier question, but I think that’s when you talk to someone else about it - someone not involved in the direct situation. That way, you get to talk it out and sometimes you can find a solution together that you can’t by yourself.” She grins at him, wry. “And if not, at least you can throw a pity party together.”

He laughs and she secretly pats herself on the back. It’s not a sound she hears as often as she’d like, and she’s begun keeping score of how often she can make it happen. She’ll take her victories where she can. “Honestly, though, it’s no good you just sitting there being sad by yourself. Tell someone about it, even if it’s just me.”

Niall looks at her and he reaches out, not quite touching her hand as he says, “You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re - you’re incredible, honestly.” He pulls back, turning busily to put the book in his hands on the return cart.

She feels tears stinging her eyes again. “You’re pretty incredible yourself, young Niall.”

He laughs again, wiping surreptitiously at his eyes. “Sound like Louis.”

“Sounds like your Louis knows what he’s talking about.”

* * *

 

Weekends they close directly at four, and after a too-long day struggling to work up an acceptable CV for an older gentleman and arguing with people who thought the three-hour time limit was rubbish and that they should be allowed to play Candy Crush for eight hours straight if they so choose and Rebecca calling out sick  _ again _ , Helen was more than ready to wash her hands of the place for a while.

Her little flat isn’t far from the library, but the thought of going directly home and finding something to eat is exhausting. No, she decides, she’ll stop by Fondante’s Inferno and have her tea there and read a bit of  _ Jonathan Strange and Mister Norrell  _ before going home. She nods firmly to herself and turns left at the fountain instead of right.

The little bell over the door rings pleasantly as she steps inside - and stops short. The young man at the register is leaning well over it, kissing another young man with great enthusiasm and - she tilts her head - quite a bit of skill. Neither of them seem to have heard the bell. The one in the apron is very busy licking his way into the other one’s mouth, one hand on his shoulder for stability and the other moving slowly over the lad’s stomach. 

She shifts, wondering if she should clear her throat, but she must make some sort of inadvertent noise, because they break apart suddenly. The baker just grins at her, lips kiss-bitten and unrepentant, but the other lad, a nice-looking boy with mussed brown curls, goes bright red and begins stammering apologies.

Helen waves him off. “You’d have to do considerably more than that to shock me, I’m afraid,” she says dryly. “But they’d perhaps not be the most sanitary thing in a bakery.”

“Least it’s out front and not in the back where the real magic happens.” The darker headed boy is still grinning at her, even as the other one flushes an even deeper red and hisses, “ _ Harry _ .”

“ _ Liam _ ,” he says back, still not sounding the least bit perturbed. “Can I get something for you, ma’am?”

“Yes, thank you, I’d like a cup of your soup of the day and a croissant, please.” She waits a beat, then says, letting her gaze slide to the other lad - Liam - “If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

The boy she’s now quite certain is Niall’s packmate simply dimples at her again and - damn him, but he  _ is _ charming - she can feel any lingering annoyance fading.

Helen settles in with her book, watching from the corner of her eye as Liam perches awkwardly at the corner bar, the tips of his ears still bright red. She smiles up at Harry as he runs her food out to her. “You’ll be Niall’s Harry, then?”

He - lights up is really the only word for it. “You know Niall?” And then, before she can reply, “Wait, no, I know - you’re Ms. Helen.” 

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.” 

Harry flops into the seat opposite her, completely at his ease. “We were beginning to be jealous. Niall talks about you all the time, you know.”

The tips of her ears grow warm, and she tells herself not to be so ridiculously pleased over this information. But it’s nice, after being lonely for so long, having someone think to mention you when you’re not there is all. “Well. He talks about you and the other boys quite often as well.”

Harry shoots her a delighted smile before twisting in his seat and hollering, “Liam! It’s Ms. Helen! From the library!”

The other boy makes an aborted shushing motion, cheeks warm again, but he obeys Harry’s frantic gesturing and comes over. Harry curls an arm around his waist and yanks him unabashedly into his lap. “Harry!” Liam hisses, but tries to make the best of it, clearly, holding out his hand with that lovely smile. “It’s really nice to meet you, Ms. Helen.”

“I can tell who the polite ones are out of your pack,” she says, smiling to take any sting out of it. “It’s very nice to meet you, Liam. I think I’ve seen you before, perhaps? Picking Niall up from work?”

“Oh! Yes, I’m - I do that, sometimes, I - when Louis can’t, I - sometimes he has to stay longer at the school, but I’m with the little ones, you know, so we don’t take as long to - to get out, so.” Liam smiles at her again, running a hand through curls almost as messy as the other one’s. “It’s nice when our schedules line up. Otherwise I’m stuck waiting for this one here.” He punches Harry gently in the thigh, and Harry groans and pouts until Liam sighs heavily and gives him a quick kiss.

And it’s like she’s not really there at all, with how easy and unselfconscious it is, even taking into account Liam’s discomfort earlier. She’s seen couples married fifty years who would hesitate to be so open with their physical affection. 

They break apart a second later, Liam running a quick thumb over Harry’s bottom lip and Harry pretending to bite it before Liam stands up, smiling. “I’d better get back to my work, and Harry better had as well if he doesn’t want to be fired.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Barbara and Elizabeth would never fire me. After all -” His smile is the only warning they get before he finishes, “- my cupcakes bring all the girls to the bakery.”

Liam groans and Helen chuckles a little. Rebecca’s shown her enough of the me-mes on her phone that she understands the joke well enough, and Niall’s told her of Harry’s proclivity for bad puns. 

“Styles!” a voice calls, and a comfortable-looking lady, twenty or so years younger than Helen herself, comes out of the back room. “I don’t pay you to sit around making out with your packmate in front of unsuspecting customers. The Olsens’ order needs boxed up, lad.”

Harry heaves a put-upon sigh, getting out of the chair like he’s seventy instead of probably seventeen. “Liz, c’mon. I’m doing community engagement here.”

The lady rolls her eyes up towards heaven. “The good Lord and all the Saints preserve us from your attempts at community engagement. Don’t think I don’t know about how many ‘accidentally’ broken pastries you’ve given away and called it ‘community engagement.’”

“They bought things!” 

“It doesn’t do us any good for them to buy a coffee and sit here all day on the strength of it simply so they can giggle at you lot obnoxiously and clutter up our tables,” Elizabeth huffs. “Now leave this poor lady to enjoy her book and her lunch in peace. Liam, lad, just give him a knock upside the head next time, won’t you?”

Harry disappears into the back, grumbling all the way, and Liam shoots Helen an apologetic smile before going back to his corner. Helen has just settled back into her book, taking absentminded bites of her food, when a small plate with a delicious-looking jam roly-poly is set in front of her. 

“On the house,” Elizabeth says, smiling. “Got to do something to make up for these boys.”

There’s an indignant sound from the corner and she amends smoothly, “Harry, anyway.”

Helen smothers a chuckle. “He was fine, not to worry. I actually work with their - packmate? With their Niall. At the library.”

“The library!” Elizabeth sits in the chair Harry just vacated, and Helen has to smile privately to herself at the other lady doing just what she’s told Harry off for. “Haven’t been there in...good grief, probably years, now. I really ought to take up reading again now that we’re slower here.”

“We’d love to get you set up with a card.” Helen wipes her fingers on her napkin and holds out her hand. “Helen Whitcomb.”

“Goodness, I’m so sorry; where are my manners. Elizabeth Lennox. My friend Barbara and I run this place, for our sins.”

“It’s a lovely place, truly. The name is clever - was that your idea?”

“Barbara’s, actually.” Elizabeth brushes a hand over her face, looking faintly surprised at the flour that smudges onto her fingers. “She’s a great lady for reading, that one.”

“I should love to meet her sometime.” 

“She’s...well. She’s getting on in years, is Barbara. Doesn’t work quite as many shifts as she used to.” She pauses, looking at Helen thoughtfully. “Do you knit?”

“Do I - well, I - I used to. We all did, you know, back when our mothers were knitting socks and scarves and things for their men on the front, but. My stars, I haven’t knitted anything in years.”

“There’s a group that meets above the woodworking shop just on Maplefall Lane - knitting and crocheting and whatnot. I’m not any good myself, and at any rate I’ve got my hands full supervising this lot, but they meet every second Saturday at three, and there’s a full tea provided. They’re always looking for new members, and they really are a lovely group of people. They donate everything to the local clinic or the shelter.”

“Well, now.” Helen takes off her glasses and polishes them distractedly, trying to think. “Well. It does sound - Maplefall Lane? I’ll have to see about my schedule - I do work some Saturdays, so I’m not sure, but I’ll - yes. I’ll think about it. Thank you very much, Elizabeth. I appreciate the invitation.”

“Liz, please.” Liz stands, brushing herself off with an air of satisfaction. “It was lovely to meet you, Helen. I’d better go and make sure that idiot child isn’t trying to ice anything with his toes or some such nonsense, but you take as much time as you like.”

* * *

 

Helen thinks about it off and on that week. She hasn’t done anything social outside of work events for - goodness, probably three or four years. It hasn’t seemed that long, but, well. Time does have a way of belting up its coat and getting on with things while you’re not paying attention. Saturday morning she faffs about for a bit, beginning to clean out her cupboards and then changing her mind and beginning to sort her wardrobe instead until suddenly it’s two thirty in the afternoon. She pauses, a nightdress that’s decidedly seen better days in one hand and a tupperware in the other, unsure for a long moment. And then, “Oh, for pity’s sake. If nothing else there’s tea. Don’t be such a silly ass, Helen.” And thus decided, she tosses both nightgown and container into a nearby drawer and burrows in a highly undignified way in her closet for about five minutes before emerging victorious with an old workbag with two needles dangling out of one corner.

She changes out of her comfortable house dress into something a little more presentable and surveys herself in the mirror. “Not bad, I suppose,” she tells herself, grudgingly. “The yellow is perhaps a little garish, but. No, actually. It sets off my skin tone, and I shall wear it even if it is bright.” Helen nods at herself in the mirror and then laughs a little, self-conscious. “First sign of insanity, they say. Talking to oneself. Ah, well, if I didn’t talk to myself who on earth  _ would _ I talk to? Off we go then.”

She nearly loses her nerve standing outside the woodworker’s shop (“Richard’s Handcrafted Furniture, Bookshelves, and More!), but tells herself sternly not to be so cowardly about the whole thing and marches inside. The man behind the counter looks up as she comes in, nodding at her with a friendly smile. “Here for the knitting group, ma’am?”

“I - yes, I suppose I am, yes.”

“They’ll be glad to have a fresh face, I reckon. Richard Dunton, that’s me. I rent the space for the knitting folks.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Helen says vaguely, wondering why on  _ earth _ she let herself leave the house in this ridiculous dress. Obviously it’s far too flashy for a nice quiet get together like this one.

“They always save me plenty of tea cakes, and I’ve got more scarves ‘n hats than a man could make use of in a hun’red years, I reckon.”

“I suppose you might make presents of them,” Helen offers, not quite sure if she’s supposed to just go right up the stairs or wait to be presented. “To nieces and nephews and such.”

“Could do, could do.” Richard nods his head thoughtfully, stroking his beard with one hand as his eyes twinkle fiercely. “Only, might be a problem with that, I reckon. Seeing as half of ‘em are made by my nephew.” He doubles over, slapping his thigh as he laughs. “See! Be a bit tricky, that one, eh?”

His laughter is infectious, and she can’t help but join in, feeling much the better for it. “Yes, I can see how that might pose some difficulties.”

He waves her off, still chuckling to himself. “Go right on up, then. Else they’ll have snatched all the best goodies for themselves, I reckon.”

She smiles a thank you and climbs the stairs, taking a deep breath before she rounds the last corner.

There’s a small group of people sitting comfortably on a circle of low couches and chairs. An older couple sitting together on a loveseat and a young boy curled up comfortably on the chair next to them, with another young person on the settee by him and an older lady on the other side. The older lady looks up at once and smiles widely. “You must be Helen!”

Helen smiles back, automatic. “Yes, I am.”

The lady gets up, coming over with her hand outstretched. “It’s so lovely to see you! Liz said you might stop by. Let me introduce you ‘round.”

Helen accepts the proffered hand, following obediently as the woman leads her into the circle. “I’m Barbara, as Liz no doubt told you. This is Steve and Claire Cramer and Richard’s nephew, Alec. You met Richard, I’m sure - he owns the shop, you know. And this is Miranda.” 

“She’s our best crocheter, for sure.” Claire beams at first Helen and then Miranda. “Simply marvelous, the things she can make! All the children at the hospital love the little finger puppets, especially. Do show her, Miranda.”

Smiling a bit shyly, Miranda holds up the thing she’s working on. Helen peers closer. “Why, it’s a little Red Riding Hood! How on earth did you get the expression so perfect?”

Miranda shrugs. “Lots of practice,” she says, but her smile is pleased now as she bends back over her work. 

“Now, then, I see you’ve brought your workbag with you; that’s lovely. Have a seat - here, by me, and let me pour you some tea. Milk? Sugar?”

“Three sugars, just a splash of milk, thank you.” Helen sinks gratefully down onto the sofa. She doesn’t know when it became a hardship to stand for more than five minutes at a time, but it seems to matter less and less lately when it started happening and has just become the status quo. “I must warn you, though, I’m rather a terrible knitter. I haven’t done anything in years, so you must all promise not to look at me for at least four sessions.”

There’s a general chuckle, and Alec says, earnest, “It took me forever to get the hang of it, but Steve and Claire helped a lot. We’d be happy to show you if you get stuck.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you, love.” Helen smiles at him and then at Barbara as she hands her the cup of tea. “Mmm, smells delicious.”

“It’s my own blend.” Barbara settles down beside her, picking up her own knitting. “Now that Liz has mostly taken over the day to day running of the bakery, I have more time for hobbies. And, of course, I’ve got a very encouraging group of test subjects.”

“Except for when there’s licorice in them.” Miranda pulls a horrible face. “Can’t abide the stuff.”

Barbara continues to knit, unruffled. “Well, that’s as may be, Miranda, dear. Some people quite like it, you know, and there are plenty of health benefits to it.”

“I’ll get them from something else,” Miranda grumbles, rolling her eyes, “I’m not putting that in me mouth.”

“No one’s making you, Miranda.” Alec nudges her with a foot, not looking up from his work. “Don’t have to be such a grump about it.”

“Leave off,” Miranda says, shoving back, and there’s a brief tussle before Claire says, mildly, “Come, now,” and they both stop it at once.

Helen pulls out her own knitting and tries a bit hopelessly to make sense of it. She dimly remembers starting this years ago now; remembers her mother casting it on for her and urging her to get back into it, because she’d feel better if she had something to do with her hands, but it’s been so long...she swallows against the sudden rise of tears in her throat. Shaking her head firmly, she focuses on the mess in her hands. 

“Looks like you’ve made an excellent start on a dishcloth, here,” Barbara says cheerfully, her own work in her lap as she leans over and very gently takes it out of Helen’s hands. “Just dropped a couple loops, there; that happens all the time when I’ve put my project away in a bag. There we are, right as rain.”

Helen’s fingers slowly begin to remember long-forgotten motions, and she’s grateful that none of the rest of them try and draw her into conversation as she attempts to concentrate. When she surfaces from her absorption several minutes later, the topic has moved on to the festival taking place next month. Claire plays violin, apparently, and the others are trying to convince her to sign up. 

“It’s not that I’m unwilling, mind you,” she says, the soft Welsh of her accent curling gently around her vowels and pulling them out long and soft like freshly carded wool. “It’s just, I’m not a soloist and ever since Robbie’s arthritis got bad, he couldn’t play anymore and Christy gave it up when he did. Find me a band first, loves.”

“I know someone who plays piano,” Alec offers, “I dunno if that’s like, the same kind of sound you’re looking for though.”

“Friend of yours, is it?” Claire looks amused. “Tha’s sweet, but I don’t think a young one would want to play with an old crone like me.”

“You’re not a crone.” Alec frowns. “You shouldn’t talk yourself down like that, Claire. And anyway -“ He looks a little shy. “He’s not a - I mean, he is a friend, I suppose, but it’s - my teacher.”

The rest of the group exchanges knowing looks, not in an unkind sort of way, but more in the way you do when there’s a joke that’s been made so many times no one even has to say the punchline anymore. 

In deference to the newcomer, Miranda explains, slanting an affectionate smile Alec’s way, “Alec’s teacher told him to join a group activity or else he’d have to sign him up for compulsory community service and introduced him to Barbara. He’s never yet made it through a meeting without bringing up his teacher.” 

Alec rolls his eyes, but his gaze is direct as he adds, “I’ve got, yknow, ADHD. Me mum’s not a - not a fan of medications, so I wasn’t on anything, and I was about to be kicked out of school ‘cause I couldn’t, like. Sit still or focus or anything. Mister Tomlinson’s class was the last stop on the way out and he sort of - I dunno how he did it, but he convinced me mum I should see like, a proper doctor ‘n shit. Get on some drugs that might help, but it took a while for ‘em to come in, and I - I got in a couple fights.” He pauses. “Mister Tomlinson convinced Principle Teasdale to give me a second chance if I agreed to join extracurriculars to ‘keep me out of trouble.’ He said I could quit after a month if I wanted, but.” He shrugs, smiling around the circle. “Be an idiot to quit this, wouldn’t I.”

There’s a general chorus of ‘awww’s and Alec scoffs half-heartedly, but Helen feels a bit like she might start crying. “I think it’s lovely, Alec.” And she smiles at him as warmly as she can. He smiles back a little shyly, ducking his head to work on his knitting again.

“So Louis plays the piano, does he?” Barbara looks interested. “Is he any good?”

Helen frowns. Louis. A teacher at the local school named Louis. She wonders if - 

“He’s really good, yeah, I’ve heard him and Mister Payne singing together after school sometimes.”

“Liam? Liam Payne?”

“Yeah, ‘s right. Mister Payne teaches first form, so he’s done lots earlier than Mister Tomlinson, but they live together, so they ride home together.”

Helen laughs softly. “What are the odds. I work with Niall, actually - he lives with them as well, you know.”

“Yes, of course.” 

There’s a slightly awkward pause as all of them try to figure out exactly how much everyone else knows, before Miranda says, fiercely blunt, “If you’re not cool with them being werewolves, we’re not cool with you being here.”

“Oh!” Helen shakes her head at once. “No, that’s - of course it’s fine, obviously, I just didn’t - sometimes people don’t know, and I didn’t want to - if you didn’t know, you see.”

There’s a lessening of tension, and Steve clears his throat, saying quietly, “We’ve grown rather protective of them, by proxy.”

Helen nods. “They have a way of getting under your skin, don’t they?”

* * *

 

It’s busier than usual that day at work, which is the only excuse Helen has for why she didn’t notice sooner that Niall was under the weather. She passed him shelving in non-fiction and noticed he looked a little odd, face drawn and tight, but there was a child screaming her head off in the children’s area, and she had to go collect her and tell the mum that no, she couldn’t simply plop her child down in the children’s area and go scroll Facebook for hours. 

Ten minutes later, a niggling worry in the back of her head, she goes back to non-fiction and to her horror finds Niall on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, clearly in the middle of a full blown panic attack. “Oh, love,” she says, getting down next to him faster than her knees would prefer, but she ignores the tell tale twinge in them, “Niall, I need you to breathe for me, alright? Take a deep breath.”

His head comes up and he meets her eyes, but his own are glassy, and despite the sweat beaded on his forehead, he’s shivering. “Please -” he gets out, “Please - don’t - “

Her heart aches. “Niall, you’re safe, I promise. Can you feel the ground? Feel the carpet? You’re at work, sweetheart, you’re safe.”

“Work?” he manages, a trembling hand wiping at his mouth. “I - I don’t - “

Helen sees Vicky at the end of the aisle, her mouth pursed in disapproval, and cuts her off before she can say anything. Head Librarian or not, Helen’s not letting her make things worse. “Look up Niall Horan’s emergency contact. It’ll be either Louis Tomlinson or Zayn Malik and there’ll be at least two numbers. Call both of them, but call Louis’ first. Tell him Niall’s having a panic attack.  _ Go _ , Vicky.” She turns back to Niall, reaching tentatively to put a hand on his arm.

He flinches, hard, and she tries not to mind. “Niall,” she says, as softly as she can, “Niall, love, Louis is on his way, alright? I think we’d be more comfortable on the staff couch, perhaps, yes? Can you help me?”

He looks at her, breath still short and panicky, but something’s got through. “Louis?” he asks.

“Yes, that’s right, we’ve called Louis and he’s on his way, alright? Could you help me up, Niall?”

He clearly doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he follows her instructions, stumbling up and the few short feet out of the stacks and safely into the staff room, away from prying eyes. Vicky’s waiting for her, mouth still disapproving. “You call him?” Helen asks, keeping her voice low.

Vicky nods, stiff. “Ten minutes, he said.”

“Praise be.”

“Really, Helen, I don’t think all this babying is necessary; he’s most likely just hungover.”

“Vicky, don’t display your ignorance.” It’s more short than Helen usually is, even with Vicky, but this is simply not the  _ time _ . “Go do something useful like watch the desk for me until his - until Louis gets here.”

“Rebecca is on the desk and it’s  _ Victoria _ , for the millionth time.”

“Of course, Vicky,” Helen replies absently, attention back on Niall. His colouring is a little better, breath coming less rapidly, but he’s weak and shaky in a way she remembers very clearly from taking care of her father after one of his episodes. Shell shock, they’d called it then. PTSD they call it now. It always leaves her feeling like someone’s scooped all her insides out and replaced them with jello, no matter what they call it. There was never enough she could do to help. “Just a couple more minutes, Niall, just breathe for me, yes? Louis will be here soon.”

“Louis,” Niall says again, but it’s not the tone of relief from before. He reaches for her hand, grabbing it so tightly with his own that she almost winces. “No, he’s - he’ll be upset, I’m fine, I’ll be fine.”

“Niall, I don’t - I don’t understand, love. Did you not want us to call him? You were having a panic attack.” Niall adores Louis, it’s written in every line of his body and every soft curve of his smile when he talks about him; it doesn’t make sense for him to so suddenly be afraid of Louis. “Niall, is he - is he going to be angry with you? Should I not let him in?”

He’s been shaking his head slowly but at this his head comes up sharply, seeming to sense something of what she’s thinking. “He’s not - I’m not -“ He pauses, dragging in a shaky breath. “He won’t be angry with me like that, it’s okay. I just - I thought it was going to be okay.” 

He looks so lost that Helen can’t help herself, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Just hang on a few more minutes, love, we’ll get this sorted. Promise.”

Niall nods, shoulders hunching in on himself, and Helen bites her lip. “I’ll go see if he’s nearly here, alright, love? We can’t have Vicky holding him up on some pretext or other, can we.”

She tugs a blanket around his shoulders before she goes, looking back worriedly. She’s glad she came out, though, because there’s a young man with very blue eyes nearly dancing with impatience at the desk and she can tell Rebecca has no intention of letting him out of her clutches if she can help it. “Thank you, Rebecca,” she cuts her off, “I’ll take care of it from here. Louis Tomlinson, yes? Come on back.”

“Is Niall alright?” The way he moves reminds her of Mister Mistoffelees after a bird, before he got too stiff to do anything but lie in the sun. The same tightly wound muscles and every part of his body ready to attack or defend.

“He’s - worried, I think. About how you’ll react.” Helen pauses, picking her words carefully. “He’s calmed down from the panic attack, but - I think he wanted to be okay without you.”

Louis stops, an expression she can’t quite read crossing his face before he smiles easily. “Well. Here now, aren’t I? Might as well check in on him.”

“Of course. He’s just in the staff room here.” She knocks gently before sticking her head round. “Niall, love, there’s someone here for you.”

Niall’s still huddled into a corner of the couch, blanket pulled tight around his chin, and he looks up when they come in, mustering a weak smile completely unlike his usual sunshine. “Hi, Lou.”

“Oh, Niall,” Louis breathes, brushing past Helen like she isn’t even there, all his attention on the forlorn figure on the couch. He reaches for him and Helen is relieved to see, as she backs quickly through the door, that Niall reaches back.

Helen hurries into the little kitchenette, checking the refrigerator to be sure they still have cream before she puts the kettle on. She’ll leave them be for a few minutes, but everyone likes a cup of tea after a hard conversation. The sink is full of dirty mugs and stray utensils, because if she doesn’t do the washing up periodically no one does, so she fills the sink with nice hot soapy water and lets her mind drift for a while as she washes. She’s been to the knitting group a couple times since the first time, and even though there’s not been a lot of progress on her dishcloth, she’s found that actual results aren’t really the first priority for the group. They mostly just enjoy the opportunity to sit and chat and enjoy whatever delicious offerings Barbara has that week.

And she’s stopped by the bakery a few times on her way home lately. Harry always greets her with a huge smile and a chocolate mille-feuille “on the house, for my favourite customer” with a wink, and sometimes Liam’s there as well, always polite and just as lovely as the first time they met. Once when she’d gone in there’d been someone who looked so familiar in that annoying, just in the corner of your mind sort of way, that she’d finally given in and asked his name. “I’m Peter,” he had said, grinning at her in a cheerful sort of way. “I know you, Ms. Helen. From the library. Peter Derwood.”

“Peter Derwood! Goodness! And here you are, old enough to have a proper job. Heavens, I don’t think I’ve seen you since you were twelve.”

He’d laughed and said that he hoped she wasn’t too ashamed of him for not coming to the library anymore, but he’d gotten too busy with school to have time for pleasure reading. “Maybe I’ll start coming back, though; get something to read for the slow shifts here.”

Helen is pulled abruptly from her reverie by the kettle whistling indignantly. She fixes both mugs and goes back to the staff room, opening the door very carefully with her elbow so as not to spill them. 

“- promise I'm not upset or hurt that someone else could help you when I couldn't. I'm glad, Niall, so glad you have other people who love you and want to help you." Louis twists ‘round at the sound of the door opening, both of them looking up as she enters. Louis’ hands are tangled together with Niall’s, though, and neither of them let go.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, I just fixed some tea and I thought you and your alpha might like some.”

“Ahh, a regular Flo Nightingale,” Louis says, eyes greedy on the mug in her hand.

Niall snorts a laugh, sounding much better than he had even ten minutes ago. “I bet you don't know anything about Florence Nightingale except that she was a nurse.”

"She was a ministering angel with a lamp and cups of tea, hush you." Louis mock frowns, changing quicksilver to a smile as he gently frees one hand to take one of the cups from her and hand it to Niall. "But you've not made any for yourself! Shall I make one, or would you rather have mine?"

“Oh, goodness, no, I’ve got to get back to work. I just wanted to check in on you boys and make sure everything is alright. Niall, lovey, do you want to go home?”

He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Thank you, Ms. Helen, I’ll be alright in a couple minutes. Thank you for the tea.”

“You’re very welcome.” She smiles first at Niall and then at Louis, who is looking at her with sudden comprehension. 

“So  _ you’re _ the famous Ms. Helen. I should’ve known when you brought us tea, really. Catch any of the rest of these people bringing us tea. Load of harpies, from what our Niall says. Especially that Victoria from the ‘phone.”

Niall goes bright red, but Helen just laughs. “Vicky was promoted a little too early, I’ve always thought. She likes being important, but then, don’t we all.”

“That’s right enough.” Louis smiles at her, and perhaps the softness is just left over from the way he was looking at Niall, but something in her chest grows very warm and she inwardly shakes her head at herself, being so affected by a man’s smile at her age.

“I’ll leave you two to drink your tea, then. Stay as long as you like, Louis.” She leaves them with a nod and a smile and goes to relieve Rebecca. 

Louis comes out ten minutes or so later, looking tired. He stops by the desk, leaning a little too heavily on the counter as he says quietly, “Thank you for looking after him.”

“Of course, anything I can do.” Helen takes a risk, reaching to pat Louis’ hand like she still hesitates to do for Niall. “You’re a good boy to come so quickly to make sure he’s alright.”

Louis huffs a little, looking like he wants to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away from her hand. “Wish it weren’t necessary. To be honest, it’s just - properly blows my mind that someone could ever hurt Niall. I love all my boys, but. Nicest possible way, I’d rather see any of us punched than Niall.”

“I understand that.” Helen smiles. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you really do a wonderful taking care with him.”

Louis does pull away, then, shoulders hunching a little. “Doesn’t feel like it,” he mutters, almost too softly for her to hear. “He - he was worried I’d be upset with him, for not calling me when he felt the attack coming on.”

“Are you?” Helen asks as gently as she can.

“No!” Louis’ head comes up, jaw tight and defensive. “I mean, I hate that he didn’t, because I always hate when he’s hurting and I can’t help, but I’m not - I’m not  _ angry  _ with him or some shi- rubbish like that.”

“Well, then, you just make sure he knows that, love, and don’t worry about the rest.” 

Louis mutters something that sounds like “Easier said than done” but he does manage a smile. Helen promises to make sure Niall takes it easy the rest of the day and Louis thanks her again, leaving with a more-or-less cheerful, “See you in a couple hours!”

 

* * *

“‘Scuse me,” an Irish voice says, and Helen looks up to see a very tall man with close-cropped dark hair smiling down at her. His shirt, she notes absently, is several sizes too small. Or perhaps they simply don’t make shirts large enough for his build. “D’you know where I could find -”

“Bressie!” There’s a blur of motion beside her, and the exclamation is loud enough to rouse even Stuart Boyer, who has been known to game happily through multiple fire alarms.

Niall’s full-on lept into the man’s arms, legs and arms clinging tight, and the big man is laughing, hugging Niall back just as tightly. “Easy there, Chief, you’ll have me on the floor in a second.”

“Like three of me could take you down, Brez,” Niall scoffs, slugging the man in the arm and then pulling himself up to kiss his cheek. “What’re you doin’ here, then? Thought you and the LIC were over t’ sunny Spain for that thing.”

“Ah, well, Laura had a gig here she couldn’t miss, so Eoghan and the lot went on without us and we’re to follow next week. Was in the neighborhood, so I couldn’t not stop in, yeah?”

“You’ve already seen Louis, I guess, if you’re here. You’re staying for dinner, right? Laura too, if she’s here.”

“Saw Harry, actually, and yeah, I’ll be staying. Laura’s with Moira, so I’ll pick her up tomorrow.”

Helen’s wondering if she can slip away without anyone noticing, so as to give them some privacy, when Niall seems to remember where he is and slips down, face gone red. “Oh, Ms. Helen, I’m so sorry, I forgot I was - I forgot, I’m so sorry.”

“No harm done,” Helen says as soothingly as she can. “You were excited to see your friend, of course.” She smiles at Niall and then at his friend. “No one in here to be disturbed, anyway.”

“I still shouldn’t have -“ Niall runs an anxious hand over the top of his head, and his friend drops a hand to rest on his shoulder, the movement slow but deliberate like Helen’s gotten used to seeing from Niall’s pack. Niall leans into it, though, turning to smile up at the man briefly before turning back to Helen. “Sorry. Um. Haven’t even introduced you yet. This is me friend Bressie. Head, this is Ms. Helen.”

“Niall Breslin,” the man supplies, smiling and reaching one enormous hand to engulf her own. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.” Helen smiles back, feeling perhaps disproportionately amused. “Niall and Niall? You could go on the road with that.”

The bigger Niall laughs, booming and cheerful. “That’d be legend, wouldn’t it, Chief? Niall Take Two?”

“Niall Squared?” Niall’s laughing, pink-cheeked and loose in a way Helen rarely sees him at work. “Dunno, Head, think the world’s ready for us?”

“Two Nialls and a Guitar,” Niall Breslin says solemnly, but his eyes are dancing, “be breaking records right and left, I reckon.”

They all three laugh, and Helen gets out of her chair, a little slower than she’d like, but that’s the way with everything these days, feels like. “I’ll leave you boys to catch up, then, and I’ll just be in the back if you need me, Niall.”

“Oh, you don’t have to -“

“He was just stopping -“

She waves both of them off. “You never take your breaks, Niall, love. You just stay out here and chat with your friend and keep an eye that Stuart doesn’t switch from computer games to dirty pictures again and I’ll get some work done in the back.”

They’re chatting nearly until close, and Helen leaves them to it. There’s no work to be done, and it’s good for Niall to have someone to talk to besides an old woman who does nothing but tell the same stories over again.

Niall’s still flushed and happy looking when he comes back to help her close up, and he thanks her again for letting him slack off. “We don’t get to see Brez as much these days,” he explains, locking up the cash register and handing her the key. “He’s an advocate, like, for wolves in bad situations, and he’s got a pack of his own, so s’ always nice to see him.”

“He seems lovely,” Helen says warmly, “and it’s really good that he does that. Sort of like Child Protective Services, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, a bit like that. He’s got a girl right now they just pulled out of a bad place, but she’s -” Niall grimaces. “Regular CPS won’t take weres, and there’s not a lot of packs that’ll take in strays. And the ones that will - they’re mixed, and Brez doesn’t want to put her with a pack that has men. Her last pack was.” Niall stops, looking sick. “It was all men.”

“Oh, the poor love.” Helen stops halfway through putting her coat on, feeling just as sick as Niall looks. “That sweet girl.”

“Yeah.” Niall shakes himself, attempting a smile. “Usually we’d offer to take her in, at least ‘til they find somewhere better, but obviously -“ He cuts off, shrugging. “She’s staying with his packmate Laura right now, but Laura travels too much for work to be there for her like she needs.”

Helen clicks her tongue in dismay. “I’ll be praying for her, and for your friend to find a good home for her. How old is she?”

“Fifteen, I think he said.” Niall waits for her to set the alarm before opening the door and flipping the last of the lights off. “It’s shit, is what it is.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Helen sighs, wishing she could give Niall a hug but knowing it was better for him to give him his space. “Love you, pet. See you tomorrow.”

“Love you,” he says back, easy as anything, and she watches him safely to the car, Liam waving at her from the driver’s seat as they pull away.

It’s a restless night of very little sleep, but she’s clear-eyed and resolved the next day when she tells Niall, “I’ve prayed about it all night, and I want to do whatever I need to do to be certified so I can take in that poor girl for as long as she needs a place.”

“Oh!” Niall looks stunned. “Oh, Ms. Helen, I never meant to - I didn’t - we couldn’t ask you to -”

“Love, I know you weren’t asking. I told you, I’ve prayed about it, and I think this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m offering.”

“I -” Niall rubs the edge of his ear between two fingers, looking overwhelmed. “I - “ He laughs, but it’s a little shaky. “Reckon I’ll text Bressie, see if you can meet to talk it out, then.”

Moira, the young lady in question, is an hour away with Niall Breslin’s packmate Laura, but Laura offers to drive in and bring Moira to meet them. Niall (her Niall) offers eagerly for them to use their house for the meeting space, but Zayn, when Niall phones him to ask, suggests that perhaps Moira wouldn’t really like being in a space with so many male scents to it. They settle instead on the park not far from Helen’s house. Plenty of open space so no one need feel pressured or closed in. 

The meeting goes well. That is to say, there’s no blood and no one starts hollering bloody murder, which Laura assures her counts as a win for a lot of prospective placements. Moira says very little, mostly responding in shrugs and head shakes, and the only time she actually looks at Helen straight on is when Laura mentions, casually, that Helen is human. Her head comes up and one eye is visible for the first time behind her curtain of dreadlocks. Helen smiles at her and does her best to sound welcoming as she adds, “One hundred percent human, I’m afraid. I’d never even met a werewolf until Niall and his pack.” She pauses, shaking her head a little. “Our Niall, I mean.”

There’s a long pause when Laura asks, very gently, if Moira would like to go back with her to her hotel, or if she’s ready to make a decision now. Helen is perfectly ready for her to turn the offer down flat, or at least want to take a day or so to think about it, but Moira surprises her by getting up and shouldering her backpack. She shakes her dreadlocks out of her face and looks Helen in the eyes long enough to ask, “You hit?”

“I do not,” Helen says, her heart hurting. “I don’t believe in corporal punishment, and even if I did you’re far too big and I’m much too old for any of that.”

Moira nods once, sharp. “I’ll go with you.”

Helen tries not to look as surprised as she feels, and she can sense Laura doing the same. 

“I don’t mean to rush you into anything,” Laura says, looking a little worried. “It’s completely fine if you want to stay with me for a while longer, take some time to think about it.”

Moira shrugs, tossing her head a little to hide her face again. “You’ve got that thing tomorrow, haven’t you. And I’ll be sixteen in December. Can be on me own, then. Just temporary, right.”

Helen opens her mouth to say something, perhaps reassure the girl that she needn’t leave as soon as it became legally allowable, but Laura catches her eye and shakes her head just slightly. “Alright then, love. I’ll leave you with Ms. Helen and I’ll be back to check on you at least by the day after tomorrow if I can’t make it tomorrow.”

There are two or three documents Helen has to sign, and if she were a clever sort of person she’d read them much more closely, but it’s easy to trust Laura when she explains them briefly. Perhaps because she sounds so much like Niall, and Helen trusts Niall, and Niall trusts Bressie, and Bressie and Laura are pack.

Moira takes a step back as Laura puts the papers in her satchel, crossing her arms over her chest like she’s preemptively warning Laura off from doing anything like trying for a hug, so Laura just gives her a nod and hurries off to her car after making sure they both have her number and Bressie’s in case of an emergency.

 

* * *

Helen finishes with Richard at the shop, arranging to having the new end table fitted out with the extra shelf. She offers to rent a car or something to pick it up, but he waves her off, assuring her that he delivers furniture for people all the time and it’ll be no trouble at all to bring hers. She thanks him and he sees her off with a cheerful, “See you for the group next week, aye.”

It’s a pleasant evening, cool without being too chilly, and she slows her steps to enjoy it more fully, breathing in the scent of the honeysuckles the Teaslinks planted last year. They also installed a bench underneath their rose arch just to the side of the footpath, and she thinks hopefully about sitting and taking a bit of a rest; breathe in the rose-and-honeysuckle-air. When she gets there, though, she finds it already occupied. 

In the twilight gloaming it takes her a moment to recognised the closely twined figures as Niall and Liam. Niall waves without disentangling himself. “Hi, Ms. Helen.”

“Hello, loves. What are you up to this evening?”

“Just relaxing a bit. Lou and Zayn’re having a date night, and Harry’s out with Nick’s lot, so Liam’n I thought we’d take a walk.”

“It’s a beautiful evening for it, certainly.”

“What are you doing, Ms. Helen?” Liam shifts on the bench, hooking an arm underneath Niall’s legs to pull him more securely into his lap. Niall slides a hand easily into Liam’s hair as he resettles and Liam pats his thigh absently.

“I was just running some errands before going home for my tea. Taking the long way home from Richard’s shop, though, seeing as it’s so lovely out.”

“You’ve not eaten yet?” Liam looks concerned, eyebrows bunching together worriedly. 

Helen resists the urge to pat him on the shoulder. “I’m fine, love, I had a late lunch. Moira’s off on a jaunt through the woods today, so I’m by myself for dinner. I’ve nearly forgotten, the past couple months, how hard it is to be motivated to cook for one.”

“I wish I had that problem,” Niall says mournfully and then squirms away laughing as Liam pinches him. “Unfair, unfair, you’re upsetting me perch.”

“Take it back, then, you love cooking for all of us,” Liam says, sounding confident, but as Helen watches, Niall instantly stops squirming, petting gently at Liam’s hair and agreeing, “I do, at that.”

Liam’s almost hesitant smile grows at that, and he says, low, “Just gonna - kiss you on the cheek, if that’s okay.”

Niall proffers it instantly, and Helen is starting to wonder if they’ve completely forgotten her presence as Liam leans in, lips moving against Niall’s cheek as he murmurs something too low for her to hear. They both pull back after a moment, though, both sets of cheeks a bit flushed, but Niall offers, “Want to come along with us to the bakery? We were just going to stop in and get some pastry, but it’d be nice to have some company while we eat if you’d like to get dinner there. Our treat.”

“Oh!” She shifts her bag from one arm to the other. “Oh, well, that’s very sweet of you boys, but I’m sure you’ve got other things to be doing - don’t need to pander to an old woman.”

“‘S not pandering, spending time with my favourite librarian -“ 

“- oi!” 

“- outside of our Nialler, of course.” Liam stands up, bringing Niall with him and setting him gently down on his feet before offering her his arm. “Unless you’d really just go right home, but we’d love to have you, honestly truly.”

“Honestly truly, eh?” She smiles despite herself, taking the proffered arm. “Well. Perhaps just a quick bite. I’ll pay for my own, though, I insist.”

Liz and Peter are working when they step in, Liz doing sums by the register with a woebegone look on her face and Peter wiping down tables. He greets them with a cheerful, “Alright, lads?” for Liam and Niall and an enthused, “Ms. Helen Librarian! I was hoping you’d come in today; we’ve got some strawberry scones in and I wanted you to try.”

“I would love to, thank you, sweetheart. I might have a bowl of your soup of the day as well, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, I’ll have it right out.” He hooks the bottle of cleaner on his apron pocket and hurries into the back.

Liz brightens as they come up to the register. “Hullo, Liam, Helen. Niall, praise the good Lord, you’re just the person I needed. I can’t make head or tail of these overhead margins. Would you mind awfully just taking a quick peek at them? There’s a free scone in it for you.”

“Don’t mind a bit.” Niall circles the counter, pulling the laptop closer to him as Liz steps back. He frowns at the screen, fingers moving swiftly over the keys. “Mind if I set up a spreadsheet? Easier to see what we’re working with that way.”

Liam groans softly and takes Helen’s elbow again, tugging her gently to a table. “He’ll be at it a while if he’s on about spreadsheets.”

“Does he do this a lot?” Helen asks, amused.

“He’s our stats man, Niall.” Liam’s voice is teasing, but his face is unbearably fond. “Gets excited about spreadsheets and sorting out numbers and that.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing some people do, because goodness knows I’m no good at maths and economies and such.”

“Here’s to that.” Liam lifts the cup of tea Peter’s just brought them in a salute. He takes a sip and then sets it down, biting his lip in an attempt to suppress a smile. “I actually - well, I’m a bit rubbish at school in general, really, but once a mate of ours was talking about going to Japan and I told him to be sure and pack something to surf in because I thought Japan was by Australia. Louis teased me about that for ages.”

“Oh, dear.” Helen can’t help but laugh. “Well, that’s understandable, I’m sure. I don’t think I could find half of Europe without an A-Z and a magnifier.”

“And you’re a librarian.” Liam is laughing too, and she smiles up at Peter as he runs her soup and bread out and she’s very happy indeed she ran into them on the bench underneath the honeysuckle.

 

* * *

_ //interlude// _

* * *

 

It’s exactly the kind of morning that makes you glad to be alive. The breeze is brisk and pleasant and brings with it the scent of the honeysuckles planted around the edge of the property, near where the rose bushes are beginning to bud.

There’s a whole long, glorious day stretching out with no responsibilities and no time constraints. It’s almost enough to make one feel as though there’s a point to life after all. Moira bounces out of bed, stopping only long enough to snag a hair tie and jam her feet into her flip flops before she’s out of her bedroom. 

She does a quick detour into the kitchen to fetch an apple for herself and the container of crickets from underneath the sink. Mama Helen had been very kind and understanding about Moira bringing bits of plants and things home with her, but when she’d walked in on Moira watering a bucket full of dirt and worms in the bathroom she’d sighed and suggested gently that perhaps they could keep the bugs at least out of the communal living spaces. Before Moira had time to panic about it, though, Helen had offered to clear out the small back porch for Moira to use for whatever she wanted. “Bugs included,” she’d finished with a smile, and Moira had tentatively smiled back. 

Harry doesn’t need flies, technically, since he lives right next to a small drain runoff and there are flies aplenty, but Moira enjoys their ritual too much by now to give it up. She comes to a stop by his log and kicks her sandals off, clicking her tongue. Harry’s green head pokes out from underneath the log, swiftly followed by the rest of him. She clicks again and he hops closer, one eye firmly on the container in her hand. She fishes out a cricket and tosses it in his direction. He snaps it up, almost quicker than she can follow, waiting patiently for the next one. Moira caps the container after four or five more and stands, brushing herself off. “That’s it, Harold. Don’t need to make yourself sick, yeah? I’m off to collect some moss. Maybe some cowslips.”

The woods are cool and thick enough that the morning’s dew is still clustered on the tops of grass blades and ivy leaves. Mama Helen is at work all day today, so Moira doesn’t have to be home until supper time. Helen’s always fretting that she doesn’t get enough to eat on days like this, but Moira’s gone long enough without meals that a few hours between breakfast and dinner is nothing. She pauses once she’s reached the ramshackle shed a few hundred feet into the woods, looking around and reaching out with her other senses as well to make sure there’s no one else around before she pulls her rumpled dress off over her head and shifts easily to wolf form. She can cover more ground this way and doesn’t have to bother about interacting with anyone. The downside is the loss of opposable thumbs and the potential indignity of having to change back without a dress or anything afterwards. 

She’s solved both of these problems by leaving a small basket in the shed, and she proceeds to stuff her dress into the basket and the basket into her teeth before taking off deeper into the woods at the steady wolf trot that eats up miles like dry grass in a forest fire.

Moira lets herself disappear into the easy rhythm of simply running - a luxury she never had as a wolf before Helen took her in. A few miles in, though, she slows enough to actually take in her surroundings. She would really like to find some cowslip or some heather, but she’s not sure it grows in any kind of quantities this far south. But she’s been wanting to have a bed of heather ever since reading her first foster sibling’s beat up copy of the Horse and His Boy as a nine-year-old. She sort of doubts even Mama Helen would be alright with her either moving plants in to replace her mattress or sleeping outside on a transplanted bed of heather.

She comes across a crop of Heart’s Ease nestled between an oak and a beech and stops, digging as carefully as she can to get some of the dirt as well, picking it up gently in her teeth to deposit it in the basket. 

The woods around her are peaceful, and she’s deep enough into them that any sound of cars or the human world has vanished unless she strains to hear them. She picks the basket back up and trots onward. She’s not very much farther in when she sees a patch of heather and stops so abruptly she nearly trips over the dress trailing out of her basket. The Heart’s Ease was tricky enough with paws, so she reluctantly shifts, pausing to tug her dress over her head before kneeling to dig around the heather. Intent on her task, she realises she’s not alone in the woods only when a voice from behind her says cautiously, “Hullo.”

She whirls around, hands still full of plants, to see two boys staring at her from their position sprawled on the forest floor. Moira is suddenly acutely and painfully aware that her dress is wrinkled and stained and her hands are dripping even more dirt onto it. “I’m - I’m so sorry,” she stammers, “I didn’t realise - I didn’t think there was anyone here, I’ll just - sorry.”

“Hey, no, you’re fine.” One of them scrambles up, coming towards her slow enough that she only tenses a little. He reaches to fuss with his hair, looking almost embarrassed as he says, “We didn’t know anyone else was out here. We’re sorry to bother you.”

“It’s - it’s fine, I’m probably - are these your woods?” She realises she was about to make off with probably someone else’s property and flushes, thankful it’s not readily visible under the darkness of her skin. “I’m so sorry, I’ll put the heather back, I promise -“

“Easy, hey, take a breath for me, yeah?” He smiles at her, and he’s stopped four or five feet away; still far enough that she feels like she’d have time to make a run for it if she needed to. “Moira, yes? You’re staying with Helen? I’m Louis, and that’s Zayn.” He aims a thumb back at the other lad, who nods at her from where he’s still laying on the ground, running a hand through his own hair almost absently. 

“Oh, I - Helen’s mentioned you, I think.” Moira’s pulse starts thudding in her ears, because she knows Niall - she’s met Niall from coming in when Helen was at work - and Niall is very nice and an omega and she’s a beta so she could probably take him, but these are  _ alphas _ , they’re both alphas, and the last time she was around alphas - she can dimly feel the dirt from the roots of the heather crumbling out from between her fingers, and she wonders if she’ll be able to come back and get her basket after this all goes to hell.

Without her noticing him even moving, the other alpha - Zayn - has come up behind Louis, and he touches the tips of his fingers to Louis’ elbow. “Lou,” he says, and he’s frowning, and that’s not good, is it, when they’re frowning, because you’re not meant to make alphas frown - got to keep the men happy, right, isn’t that what they said, and she’s not supposed to run, but maybe - she’s in the woods, isn’t she, and woods are good, and there’s something wet and crumbly in one hand, and there’s something cool and hard in her other one and an odd rushing sound in her ears and - hadn’t she been standing up a moment ago?

“...that, nice and cool, yes? There you go, take another breath for me, that’s it, no one’s touching you, alright? You’re fine, you’re safe, there you go.”

She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, but when she opens them again she sees the remains of the heather in one hand and an empty bottle of ginger ale in the other. Louis and Zayn are a good ten feet away, watching her worriedly. Louis’ face breaks into a smile. “There you are, love. Went away for a little bit.” He nods at her hands, adds, “Didn’t want to take away your plants, but it helps one of ours sometimes with panic attacks to have something solid to use as, like, a touchstone kind of thing.”

Moira looks from the empty bottle back to Louis. His hands are laid on his knees, easy and calm, and his body is relaxed, not like it’s tensed to grab or pinch or hit. Zayn’s a little behind him, half draped over his back, and as she watches he turns his head enough to drop a small kiss just behind Louis’ ear. And that - alphas don’t  _ do _ that. Not with each other, and definitely not in public with anyone, that kind of easy affection that’s not in the least possessive. She takes a deep breath and consciously drops her shoulders, letting her body go lax. Not completely; she’s not a total idiot, but - they’re far enough away she can still escape if she needs to. She bends to set the bottle down carefully and pick up the scattered heather. “Sorry to - freak out on you.”

“Not a problem at all,” Louis says, cheerful. “We’re sorry to have startled you so much, yeah?”

“And you don’t have to worry, like. About the the plants or whatever. Have as many as you’d like.” This from Zayn, who is watching her consideringly, and she flushes again as she realises she’s still stealing from their woods. 

“Oh, I - really?“

“Really,” he says, and he’s smiling a little now, too, and it’s such a nice smile, almost a bit shy, that she finds herself smiling back before she’s thought. “We’ve got acres and acres we just use for full moons, really, so ‘s nice, innit. Someone appreciating them.”

“Well - cheers, then, yeah. I - thanks very much.”

“‘course, love.”

Louis has twisted enough to return Zayn’s kiss with one of his own, this time on the corner of his mouth, murmuring something she can’t quite hear, and Moira nearly drops her heather all over again. “I’m really sorry to interrupt you - your - date?” She can’t help the questioning tilt on the end of the sentence, although she can’t quite conceive of what else it could be, the way they’re acting.

Zayn laughs a little, ducking behind Louis’ shoulder to muffle it, and Louis digs an elbow back into his ribs without looking as he says, his tone kindly, “Not a date like you’re thinking, probably. You know there’re five of us, yeah? Zaynie ‘n me co-alpha, right, and sometimes ‘s just nice to have some time just the two of us, like. Reconnect, aye? We’re not um. We don’t -“

“We don’t have sex.” Zayn supplies, eyes bright with suppressed laughter. 

Louis pulls a horrific face. “Yeah, that. We don’t - we’re not like that.”

“But, um.” Moira gestures a little helplessly, because she wasn’t, like, imagining the kiss, right. She realises she’s questioning not one, but two alphas and tenses, but they both laugh like she hasn’t done or asked anything unusual. 

Zayn drapes himself back over Louis as he answers, “It’s a bit confusing, yeah. We don’t - do it on purpose, like -”  

“- not like Harry does -“ 

“- just, we’re all a bit affectionate anyway, yeah? And then, like, y’know how it is with your pack, so it’s just - we kiss, sometimes, just ‘cause like. ‘S nice to connect like that, even if it’s not a romo thing.”

“Right.” Moira can’t help staring even so, at the gentle way Zayn’s hand is rubbing slowly over Louis’ stomach and Louis’ fingers playing jump-the-log with Zayn’s. She catches herself and quickly looks away, kneeling to settle the heather in the basket beside the Heart’s Ease. “It was, um, really nice to meet you. I should - get these home, get them replanted.”

“Good to meet you, too,” Zayn says, sounding sleepy but sincere, and Louis adds, cheerful, “We’ll have to have you and Ms. Helen over for dinner sometime. Zayn hasn’t met her yet, if you can believe it.”

“‘s not my fault I’ve been out of town for a fortnight,” Zayn grumbles without any heat, and Louis soothes him with a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Just if you’d like, of course, but we’d love to have you anytime.”

“Thanks, that’s really - I’ll ask her, that’s - very kind  - thanks -” Moira manages, before collecting her basket, her legs, and approximately a quarter of her wits and finally leaving them alone.

_ //interlude// _

* * *

It’s two weeks later before they finally manage to coordinate dinner, and Helen is excited to finally meet Zayn and see everyone else, but she can’t help be nervous for Moira. By her own (reluctant) admission, being confronted with Zayn and Louis had sent her straight into a panic attack, and that was in the open woods. In an enclosed space, smelling so much like so many other wolves, how much harder is it going to be? Moira insists that she’ll be fine and they don’t need to meet at a restaurant or cancel going altogether, but all the same Helen can’t help but be relieved when they arrive at the (slightly less serial-killer-esque than she expected from Niall’s description) house at the edge of the woods and a smiling Liam tells them Niall’s grilling in the back.

Outside has got to be better, hasn’t it? Because of - the smell and things, being less intense, and Moira likes the woods so much anyway, so that’ll help, won’t it, and - Helen doesn’t realise she’s nearly panicking herself until Moira touches her wrist gently as they’re walking to the back lawn and whispers, “I’m  _ fine _ , Mama Helen. I promise, I’m fine. I can smell you worrying.”

Helen takes a deep breath, forcing herself to relax her shoulders. “Sorry, love, I know you’re - it’s not that I don’t trust them or anything, I just - I want you to be able to enjoy yourself.”

“I will, I promise.” Moira smiles at her, and Helen can’t help but feel a little surge of happiness at how much more relaxed it is now compared to when she’d first begun fostering her. “Niall and Harry both already had a talk with me the other day about how I was fine to just leave if I had to, and then Louis texted Niall to tell me that they won’t be a bit offended if I needed to take some breaks, and that Zayn’s going to be at his ‘least alpha,’ whatever that means. I appreciate all of it, but I really think I’ll be all ght. They’re - they’re nothing like the others.”

“They had  _ better _ not be,” Helen huffs, but she does relax, in actuality this time. Niall’s manning the grill, but he sets down his tools in order to come over and hug her and beam happily at Moira. “Glad you could make it! I’ve got steaks on and some hot dogs ‘n that, and Haz made a salad, and Zayn wanted latkes, so Liam’s just popped those in the oven, I think. Louis wanted chocolate lava cakes, but we talked him down to brownies, so we’ll have those. Hope you’re not allergic to anythin’; forgot to check.”

“Just grapefruit.” Moira smiles, sniffing appreciatively at the steaks. “Smells good.”

“Extra rare, right?” Niall grins back.

“Not for me, thank you.” Helen shudders. “Well done, if I could.”

“You’re here!” a voice says from behind them before Niall can answer, and Helen finds herself smothered in a loudly patterned silk shirt that definitely belongs to Harry. She pats his back two or three times before he pulls away, dimpling at her and Moira indiscriminately. His shirt is held together by one lone button that looks like it very much wants to give up the battle and let the whole thing just hang loose, and she’s somehow not surprised when Louis, following Harry out, gives his nipple a sharp twist as he passes. “For pity’s sake, Haz, we’ve guests. Do your shirt up properly.”

“‘s too hot,” Harry whines, slowly doing up exactly one more button. 

Louis rolls his eyes at him. “What’s your excuse when it’s sleeting rain out, eh? Ignore this one, ladies, he wasn’t properly domesticated. Can I get you something to drink?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“What would you like?”

“What do you have?”

“Oi, Zayner!” Louis half turns away from them to yell into the open back door, “‘ve we got any more juice or did you drink it all last night?”

A figure, Zayn presumably, emerges from the doorway, mouth pursed. “Don’t need to shout, Lou; y’know I can hear you.”

The pursed mouth is...a little more noticeable than it might otherwise be, because there’s lipstick on it. And. Definitely mascara and possibly eyeshadow highlighting what is already one of the most beautiful pairs of eyes Helen’s ever seen. She blinks a little, moving almost on autopilot as Louis hooks himself over Zayn’s shoulder, rolling his eyes at them over it and introducing, “Zayn, meet Ms. Helen and Moira.”

“Moira and I have met,” Zayn smiles, reaching to shake hands with Helen and nodding in a friendly way at Moira, who looks startled, but also - relieved? “It’s very nice to meet you finally, Ms. Helen. I’ve heard lots about you.”

“Just good things, we promise,” Harry chimes in, sidling up to tuck himself under Zayn’s other side, and Helen, looking at him more closely, can tell he’s got some sort of eyeliner on as well. Harry’s always so buoyantly full-on charming anyway it can be hard to notice anything specifically different about him. “Hi, Moira; ‘m Harry.”

“Hi,” Moira says back, blinking a little. Helen sympathises. Harry at his most determinedly agreeable is somewhat like trying to stare a lighthouse full in the face. 

“And you’ve met Niall, and - where’s Liam?” Helen looks around.

“He’s manning the oven at the mo’,” Louis says cheerfully, biting at the sharp edge of Zayn’s jaw and rolling off his back, “I’ll go fetch him. Some water alright to start out with, ladies?”

“Yes, thank you very much.”

* * *

 

Dinner is a messy business, partly because they’re eating grilled chicken and kosher hot dogs outside with three or four dogs and a couple of cats doing their best to make things drop, and partly because halfway through Louis drops his hot dog in favour of smearing catsup all down Harry’s chest, which results in Harry shrieking and returning the favour with mayonnaise on Louis’ face. It might’ve ended there, except that some of the sauce got on Liam, who was innocently eating his chicken and latkes, so of course he had to respond with relish on their shoes, which led to both of them kicking off their shoes and chasing Liam and one another into the woods. Zayn and Niall stayed sedately seated, Zayn slipping bits of bun to the large hound looking soulfully up at him, and Niall chatting easily to Moira about astronomy.

Helen settles back in the comfortably worn in armchair Harry insisted on bringing out for her to sit in, sipping at her iced lemonade and picking at the remains of her crisps. The other three boys are all hot and panting by the time they get back, and Harry has shed both his clothes and his human form and is drooling happily on Niall’s foot. Helen is so busy checking that Moira is alright with another werewolf in wolf form that she forgets to feel any trace of nervousness herself at seeing a werewolf as a wolf for the first time. If she’s quite honest with herself, though, Harry makes for one of the least intimidating examples. He’s large, certainly, but he’s also busily licking Niall’s bare toes in between nudging his head under each of their hands for pets.

Moira seems to have hardly noticed, though, still happily discussing the overlap of botany and astronomy and how it intersects with mythology with Niall and Zayn. Her hair is pulled back from her face and she’s animated in a way Helen has hardly ever seen her. Louis and Liam are having a quiet nipple-twisting-slap-fight that ends with Liam in Louis’ lap, holding both Louis’ hands in his own to prevent further attacks. Across the circle, Zayn pets absently the fur just behind Harry’s ear, tugging gently every now and then. Her mobile buzzes then; it’s Barbara, reminding her that the group is meeting this Saturday and would she mind picking up Alec from a friend’s on the way.

She sends back a ready affirmative and, looking up, catches Zayn’s eye. He smiles at her, warm and more real than the one he’d given as they were introduced, and she smiles back. There’s an undeniable sense of warmth and safety present here, and she thinks that perhaps Moira was right to tell her not to worry. The carefully considerate way they all adjusted to make sure everyone was as comfortable as possible without drawing attention to any of the changes made. The easiness of the interactions and conversations, everyone acting just like normal but making sure to leave Moira plenty of personal space. The different food options so that everyone could have what they needed without feeling guilty for needing something special. The way their tight-knit family opened enough to let Helen and Moira in without changing their own closeness - the way they had so obviously nestled their way into the hearts of a village Helen has lived in her whole life, and yet it is only recently that she’s letting herself be a part of more than just her little world at the library.

Helen wonders, just briefly, what her life would have been like if Niall had never come to work at the library but. She looks around the circle again, relaxing into the laughter and conversations and, well. It might have been more peaceful, but peaceful can be just another word for boring, and she wouldn’t trade this and the relationships it’s brought her for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Niall has a panic attack at work and an original character has a panic attack as a result of past abuse/ptsd, but nothing is graphic.
> 
> this fic is sort of my love letter to a couple of people/things: firstly and foremostly to my lovely friend Helen who is an actual real life librarian and was the inspiration for this story. She is even more lovely and amazing than I've been able to portray her.   
> also it is a love letter to us, the fans, because my favourite part of 1d is how they've brought us all together as friends and family, so I wanted to write a story showing, from an outsider's point of view, how even in an alternate universe they're still bringing people together and giving them families. thank you for being with me on this journey!


End file.
